Chapter 24 - Alexander's anal balls

Alexander led the devastated farm hand out into the stables.

“It gives me no pleasure to have to do this to you,” he lied glibly. “But we did make a deal.”

Peter nodded dumbly as he traipsed along, naked save for his clinging tights: his cock remaining inexplicably proud and causing an embarrassing tenting effect in his yellow hose.

“Now, let’s see what else I have in my satchels to use on you, my farmer boy…”

Peter watched, alarmed, as Alexander reached into his bag and produced an instrument the likes of which he had not seen before: a thin glass tube with a hole at one end and a rubber bulb at the other. Alexander congratulated himself on having acquired the portable douche for a bargain fee at the last market he had visited. He’d hardly dared hope to find a use for it so soon!

“Fetch me a pail of water,” he ordered imperiously to one of Peter’s friends. The fake bonhomie had evaporated. He was in the role he was accustomed to adopting – the boss.

Nervously, Rodney pottered off to do as he had been bidden.

“Now, if we’re going to play, my young farm hand, I want you to be clean. Lord knows what filthy diseases you may have picked up from all those animals you work with.”

“Clean, my lord?”

“Bend over that wooden hurdle there. I want your arse high in the air where I can get to it easily.”

“My - ?”

Alexander sighed. “Remember your agreement, Peter. You agreed freely to submit to me. Do you really want me to spread the news that the word of the men of Mickelsfield cannot be trusted?”

Peter shook his head sorrowfully, and duly assumed the position Alexander had demanded.

“Delicious,” murmured Alexander as the two muscular globes of Peter’s bottom rose high into the air, his head dangling beneath his two canary yellow butt cheeks.

“Wh – what are you going to do to me?”

“All in good time, my friend. I’m going to have some fun with you. And you’ll co-operate, won’t you? Or I’ll be forced to fetch the delightful Griselde from behind the bar to witness your humiliation as well.”

“No, please, Sir,” begged Peter. “Anything but that.”

“Then you’ll be quiet and merely submit. Although if I were Griselde, I think I would insist on you wearing tights all day and all night long. Bodies like yours should be on display, not hidden away beneath unflattering smocks.”

Peter flinched as Alexander’s hand made contact with his tights-covered rump, caressing the taut flesh through the fine hosiery. It was a novelty for the Steward to have such a prime specimen of masculinity quivering beneath his touch.

Gently he began to roll down the waistband of the yellow hose to reveal the farmhand’s cheeks, pale against the tanned flesh of his torso. Peter trembled  as his impressive bottom was exposed to the imperious stranger.

“Ah-ha! And here is the pail of water – perfect timing!”

The bucket was deposited on the floor, and Alexander squeezed the douche’s bulb to fill it with the cold fresh liquid.

“This will feel strange,” he warned the nervous young man. “But it’s not necessarily unpleasant. Some men even find they are aroused by the stimulation of being douched. Although it’s clear from the bulge in your tights how much you’re enjoying this predicament – whether you know it or not.”

Peter shook his head adamantly. “I don’t understand – why?”

“Best not to fight it,” came the patronising reply. “Sometimes we are turned on by things we never even knew we needed.”

Alexander applied a little grease to the tip of the douche and then slowly inserted the device between those inviting arse cheeks. Peter shuddered as his hole was invaded for, what Alexander imagined was in all probability, the first time in his life.

“First time, eh, boy? Don’t tell me you’ve never been tempted to diddle your boy cunt whilst having a wank?”

Alexander placed one hand on Peter’s sweating back, as if calming a skittish colt.

“Now I’m going to fill you up, boy,” he whispered. “Nice clean water to flush out your dirty hole. Are you ready?”

As he squeezed the bulb, the water flooded up into the hunk’s body.

“No – please – no!” begged poor Peter.

Alexander turned to look with contempt at the farmer’s yokelish friends. The two bumpkins were clearly ashamed to see their idol forced into such a humiliating position, having his bottom fondled and filled by another man.

The douche delivered three more doses before Alexander decided that sufficient liquid had been deposited up Peter’s backside.

“Hold it in now, boy,” he warned. “I don’t want to see you embarrassing yourself any further by spilling any of that water.”

Alexander picked up the wooden pail and tipped out the remainder of the unused water. Then he tossed it to Martin. “You. Come round here.”

Stepping to one side, Alexander instructed the overwhelmed young man to take up a position about four feet behind the hurdle over which his friend was currently bending.

“Your task is to catch the shitty water Peter here expels. I need hardly point out to you that you will not want to miss any – especially if it splashes onto you.”

Martin gulped in apprehension at his allotted task.

“Very well, Peter. You may release your bowels. Get rid of all that nasty water inside you!”

Alexander smiled as he watched Peter’s face flush a deeper shade of red: whether through shame, exertion or the fact that his upper body had been hanging upside down for some time, Alexander neither knew nor cared.

Peter screwed up his eyes and, with some relief, water began to squirt from his puckered butt hole. The fluid arced through the air and Martin shuffled forwards to try and catch it before it splattered to the stable floor.

“What a sight you are,” crowed Alexander. “Shooting dirty water out of your arsehole for your friend to catch in a bucket! Maybe we should set you up in the village square as a kind of water fountain. The whole village could see their resident strongman reduced to spraying water from his man cunt!”

Eventually, Peter came to a shuddering, quivering halt as he finished emptying his bowels. The reluctant water carrier, Martin, stumbled over to join his other friend at the side of the stables: a look of intense distaste on his face. Alexander saw that the farm hand had not been entirely successful in his endeavour to catch all of the water expelled by Peter, and there were damp patches on his hessian smock.

Alexander was unconcerned, however. Instead, he crouched down so that he was level with where Peter’s head dangled.

“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it? After all, I could have done almost anything to punish you, couldn’t I? I could have cut your balls off. One little purge like this is nothing for a brave young man like you, surely?”

The farm hand started to lift his head, clearly believing his ordeal was at an end.

“You must submit to me for the whole evening,” Alexander reminded him sternly. Peter’s head drooped in despair. What further humiliation did this domineering devil have in store for him?! He was to find out before long as Alexander withdrew yet more items from his pack. A looking-glass about three foot long was produced, followed by a fabric bundle tied with a pink ribbon.

“Come over here,” ordered Alexander.

Peter rose gratefully and began to pull up his tights around his damp bum.

“Oh no. I didn’t tell you to pull up your hose, did I, boy? You keep that proud, bouncing cock of yours on full display now. I want your tights left precisely where they are.”

“Now,” he went on. “Down on the floor with you. I want you in the straw, sitting down with your legs stretched as far apart as you can. I want to see your hosed toes pointing to the two corners of this stable.”

Alexander placed the looking-glass against a wooden post.

“I want you to see every moment of this, so the image of your humiliation is forever emblazoned on your memory, boy.”

“Why – why are you doing this?”

“Because it amuses me, boy. And because I can.”

Peter helplessly did as he was bidden, his bare bottom resting on the prickly straw. He flushed to see himself in this embarrassing predicament: naked apart from the tight-fitting bright yellow hose still covering his legs like a pair of stockings. His thick uncut cock still resolutely pointed towards the ceiling, red and throbbing – inexplicably so to the poor, humiliated farmer. He looked up at his friends, the respect they once had for him slowly ebbing away.

“You heard me!” snapped Alexander. “Point those little toes of yours now, bumboy…”

“Please, no more!” begged his victim.

Alexander ignored him, and instead, placed the fabric bag down beside the handsome young man. He untied the ribbon and the spectators were finally able to see what was contained within.

With a flourish, Alexander produced a long rope of twisted leather. At intervals along the rope hung a heavy leather sphere – four in all. The leather ball at one end was maybe two inches across, with the diameter of each globe increasing until the final one was fully five inches wide.

The uneducated fools gawped in confusion, clearly failing to understand the implications of the toy. For Peter, at least, realisation dawned as Alexander knelt in the straw, his luxurious grey tights resting alongside, almost touching the yellow silkiness of his slave’s hosiery.

For a second time, Alexander withdrew the small pot of grease from his jerkin, and coating a couple of fingers with the pungent lard, he reached between the sweating arse cheeks of the farmhand. Smooth, he thought to himself. Barely a hair nestled in the obscene crack between those beautiful bum cheeks.

Alexander looked deep into the boy’s eyes and saw his victim flinch as his long finger stroked the puckered flesh of Peter’s anus. Tense and frightened, the muscle was squeezed as tight as tight could be. Delicately, Alexander deposited a coating of gloop around the sphincter. And then gently, almost tenderly, he began to push his middle finger into the hole.

“Ah – ah – ah!” gasped the masculine specimen.

“Just my finger, pushing its way into your boy pussy. And it’s only the beginning of how I intend to truly possess you…”

More grease was applied, so that now a liberal coating of gunk nestled in Peter’s arsehole. His two friends seemed horrified and fascinated in equal measures by the humiliation of their one-time idol. And Peter’s helplessness increased as by now, a small gathering of onlookers from the inn had joined to partake of the view.

“Onto your back,” ordered Alexander.

The farmhand reluctantly shuffled to lie in this new position.

“Now, lift your feet off the ground and tuck your knees against your chest.”

With a deep, ragged sigh, Peter did as he was bidden. And as his hosed thighs came to rest against his broad and sweating chest, he knew only too well just how exposed and vulnerable this left his arse.

In his deepest and darkest fantasies, Peter had imagined the perky Griselde in this very position: sluttish and feminine, ready to open to him and his thrusting ardour. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that he would face the public humiliation of adopting this pose himself, naked saved for the silkiness of these hateful yellow tights, now pulled down to just below his arse cheeks. And still, his fucking, fucking prick was as rock hard as ever. Could it be that on some demeaning level, he actually desired to be used in this depraved and devastating fashion?

The stranger must be some kind of powerful wizard, Peter reckoned, to have achieved mastery of him with such ease. Peter looked up to see the dark Mephistophelean features of Alexander gazing upon him, ill-disguised lust written across the older man’s face.

And then, the sensation began. At first, it was a dull pressure at Peter’s arsehole as the smallest of the leather spheres was pushed against his tensed sphincter. He gritted his teeth. The humiliation, the subjugation, the pain was too much. He could not allow this devil to invade his body with this obscene sex toy.

But the pressure was relentless.

“Don’t fight it,” whispered Alexander. “Open your arse to it. Take it. One way or another it’s going inside you. You may as well co-operate.”

“No, no. It’s filthy. It’s wrong.”

“I know a way to make it feel better,” cooed the older man.

And then an odour unlike any Peter had ever smelled assailed his senses as Alexander pushed his little glass bottle under the farmhand’s nostrils.

“Breathe. Breathe deep, bitch.”

The hulk of a man had no choice but to do as he was bidden, and as he was flooded with the intensity of lust, his breathing deepened, his heart pounded and all his senses swam. And sure enough it did become easier to accept the intrusion into his arse. He felt himself begin to stretch as Alexander continued to push the gunk-coated ball into his bumhole.

“Ah – ah – ahhhhhh!” he gasped.

“That’s right,” purred Alexander as he watched with pleasure as the circumference of the ball began to pass through the straining portal of his victim’s pink anus. “Take it, boy. Take that ball deep inside you.”

And then, finally, the ball had passed its widest part, and, all too eagerly it seemed, was sucked through Peter’s hole. A desperate, ragged cry escaped his lips at the sudden shock of the intruding leather ball, nestling now within him.

“Mmmmm, your hole is hungrier than I thought, boy… You will find it easier now to take the next one.”

“The … next …?” stammered the trembling farmhand. He had already begun involuntarily to lower his muscular legs.

“No no no,” admonished Alexander, “you are to keep your tights-covered legs high in the air just like that: a slutty whore, displaying your wares for all to see - and to mock.”

The dastardly potion was again forced under Peter’s nose and again he felt its erotic powers coursing through his body as he lay there, naked save for the yellow tights pulled down to his knees. The damp crotch of the garment taunted him, mere inches from his face. He writhed in impotent, delicious torment, as the potion worked its aphrodisiac charms on his unwilling mind and body.

            Then, all Peter’s attention was once again forced to focus on his arsehole as the second, slightly larger leather sphere began to be pressed against his puckered boy pussy. His anus stretched more quickly this time, and then, he realised with horror, that the evil stranger was reaching between his legs to play with his still-hard cock.

            “No, no, please, no,” he begged, his mind swirling and whirling.

            “Come now, bitch. Your prick wants this sooo badly, doesn’t it?”

            He was his arse. He was his cock. That’s all the gorgeous young stud could think of as Alexander manipulated both, and a little ripple of laughter ran around the small crowd as the second of the heavy leather balls disappeared up his rectum.

            “Oh! Oh!” Peter gasped as his asslips closed again. But they were to be offered no respite. Alexander gave a couple more tugs on his victim’s pecker, and then began pushing the third ball into the young man.

            And this one was wider still.

            “Push, bitch. Push your arse out as if you were taking a shit,” advised the stranger in his deep, silky tones. “That’s it. Now – grab those muscular bum cheeks and spread them for me, pull them apart. We need to make sure you take all my toys up your mancunt.”

            His will to fight utterly spent, Peter did as he was ordered, spreading his arsecheeks wide to try and accommodate yet another wicked invasion. As the newest ball began to push inside him, he felt the other two jostling, protesting inside, as if unwilling to allow yet another intruder to join them inside the warm wetness of his arse.

            But Alexander was not to be defeated, and with a triumphant grunt, the third ball joined its fellows in Peter’s overcrowded anal cavity.

            “Feel full, now, I bet, don’t you bitch?” the older man gloated.

            Peter whimpered his concurrence. The heaviness of the balls deep inside him were incredibly uncomfortable. He wished nothing more than to be allowed to empty himself of them.

            “And yet we still have the biggest brute to go!”

            A cheer went up from the crowd. Starved of entertainment, the public spectacle of the handsomest man in their village, humiliated and laid low before them, grovelling in the straw, naked save for some skimpy yellow tights, his arsehole on display for all to see - this was the event of the century for these yokels.

            For a final time, Alexander administered the potion to his unwilling victim: “Breathe deeply, now. Take it deep inside you. It’s the only way you’ll succeed in taking the final toy…”

            Overwhelmed by sensation, Peter’s arse was raped by the final and largest globe. He never knew his hole could stretch so wide. He whimpered, wriggling his toes in their yellow tights, beads of sweat breaking out all over his body, and leaving the indecent, clinging material damp and translucent against his tanned flesh. Wider, wider, his ass stretched. He moaned and cursed. Surely his body could not take any further invasion? He would split in two!

            And suddenly the pressure stopped, and with a sucking, shuddering sound, he realised Alexander was done.

            “You disappoint me, boy,” tutted his new master, as Alexander tipped the looking glass to show Peter the sight that all in the barn could see.

            There the beautiful farmer lay, red-faced and dripping with sweat. Cock proud and swollen, yellow tights clinging to his legs. And there at his hole, he saw the black leather ball lodged in his still-gaping anus, the overcrowding in his rectum refusing to allow any further invasion from the obscene sex toys.

            “You have failed me, bitch. You have not taken all four of my anal balls. So what on earth am I to do with you now?”

Chapter 23 - The Farmer Wears Some Tights

It was a beautiful midsummer evening. The sun cast a warm, golden glow across the undulating hills of the English countryside. Alexander dismounted from his fine black stallion and drew in a deep, satisfied breath. God, it felt good to be alive!

He unfastened his saddle bags and made his way into the inn. It was a homely affair with crude wooden furniture. But it was clean, and the smattering of locals already established in their regular corners raised a welcoming smile to the traveller. Alexander returned their welcome with a nod of his head. They were farming folk, and for once, he was relieved that it seemed he would be able to keep his sword sheathed in its scabbard. Meaner hostels usually contained a rough element who, emboldened by ale, decided to try their luck with the elegant, well-dressed stranger.

The innkeeper bustled out of his kitchen to welcome the illustrious guest, clearly impressed by Alexander’s embroidered riding cloak, long leather riding boots and luxurious grey hose. Alexander negotiated a room for the night, ordered some food and a flagon of ale and then settled down for the evening.

It had been a successful trip. He had only been in Lord Geoffrey de Montford’s service for a few months, but had already earned his master’s trust. Geoffrey had expensive and specific tastes. Rumours would circulate of a new fashion in clothes or food, and his Lordship would demand to have the latest on display at his castle in the north. And whom could he trust to send on such important matters? Why, Alexander of course. And now, his packs full of such expensive luxuries, Alexander was finally on his way home.

Home. The very thought of it conjured up images of the wide-eyed junior page boy, Henry. How Alexander longed to get his hands on that enticing youth: innocent and virginal-looking in spite of his sixteen years. Alexander’s cock twitched in his tights as he fantasised about seducing the lad. One day, he thought to himself. One day, I’ll get my chance. Nicholas – the Steward that Geoffrey had inherited from his crusty old father – could not go on forever. And when the old man vacated the position, Alexander was determined to take his place. And when he did, would there be some changes at Castle Montford!

Young Henry wouldn’t be wandering around the castle in the plain, drab costume that was his current uniform: thick grey woollen hose under a beige sack-cloth tunic which hung down to below the lad’s knees. No, Alexander would personally see to it that all the pages would be dressed in the finest silken hosiery, best to accentuate every curve and bulge of their legs and arses: their perky cocks framed in their tights and on permanent display. He rubbed his own bulge idly beneath the inn table and thought how very much he would like to have young Henry here at this moment.

He was roused from his reverie by a noise at the door. He glanced up to view the new arrivals. Just some farm workers, he thought to himself. And then he looked again. Three young men. Grimy and weary from their day in the fields. The first two Alexander dismissed instantly as being of little or no interest, straw-haired bumpkins with peg-like teeth and cauliflower ears. Probably inter-bred, he thought. But the third was a different matter.

This one was tall: as tall as Alexander himself. And the first thing that Alexander noticed was the young man’s wide and dazzling smile. His skin was brown from his time working outdoors and he had a strong, square jaw. A mop of curly brown hair adorned his head, and his good-natured eyes glowed a piercing blue. He must have been about twenty-three, mused Alexander, and as one might expect, his arms were well-developed and muscular from working in the field. The newcomer was laughing heartily as he strode over to the bar to order.

Alexander silently cursed the rough peasant smock and baggy cotton trousers that concealed the detail of the well-proportioned body that surely lay beneath. If only, he mused, he could find a way to liberate the handsome stranger from his unprepossessing garb…

“Allow me to get these.”

The farm workers protested but Alexander insisted, and soon the three of them had joined the suave and well-dressed stranger at his table. Introductions were made.

“I’m Peter Davenport, Sir. Lived here in Mickelsfield my whole life. These are my best friends, Martin and Rodney…”

Peter went on but Alexander was barely listening. He had no interest in the two friends, after all.

The barmaid brought over the four tankards of ale to their table, and Alexander noted with interest that Peter and his fellows were transfixed by the blonde girl in her lacy, low-cut blouse. All the better for me, he thought, as their total distraction meant that he was able to pour a fine, white powder into one of the tankards.

The barmaid lingered flirtatiously: clearly the attraction between her and the manly Peter was mutual.

“That will be all, girl” said Alexander peremptorily. But as he dismissed her, he took a silver shilling from the velvet purse at his waist for her tip. With some satisfaction, Alexander noticed all three of the farmers’ eyes widen at his generosity.

A lingering disappointment in Peter’s eyes as the girl withdrew was soon replaced by the prospect of ale, and Alexander pushed the drugged flagon towards the alluring young farmer.

They idled the time in chat for a while. The initial nervousness of the village lads soon dissipated as the ale flowed down their gullets. Alexander rapidly appreciated that Peter was something of a local hero: his handsome face, fantastic physique and good nature attracting all those around him. Had I more of a conscience and given what I plan to do, I might even feel sorry for him, Alexander thought to himself.

Another round of drinks and he suggested a small wager based on the outcome of the roll of a die. There was reluctance at first.

“We are poor farm workers, Sir,” pointed out the amiable Peter. “And we cannot compete with your wealth.”

Alexander dismissed the objection. “Certainly I shall bet with my cash, but it would not be fair for you to wager an equal amount given the difference in our status. Let us say, rather, that if you were to lose, you would perform a small forfeit instead.”

At this, Peter brightened. That seemed a fair proposition. A drunken night with his friends in the village invariably degenerated into a game of forfeits: holding a boulder above your head for a minute, balancing on the narrow bridge across the stream, stealing a kiss from the barmaid, the delightful Griselde.

“Besides,” added Alexander morosely. “I have deuced bad luck with the dice. Lady Fortune rarely smiles on me, I’m afraid. More often than not, I find I leave a game of dice with a much lighter purse than I came with.”

This clinched it. Peter’s two friends took up ring-side seats, as Alexander faced the farmer as his opponent.

The game began, and all proceeded precisely as Alexander had intended. His special weighted dice were produced, and to begin with, his prediction about his own ill-fortune at the game seemed only too precise. The grin on Peter’s face spread wider and wider as the pile of little silver shillings accumulating in front of him grew ever greater.

However, then, almost imperceptibly, the tide began to turn. Before long, Peter found that his shiny winnings were dwindling rapidly. One of his friends started to urge him to stop.

“Come now,” cooed Alexander. “Would you be such a poor sport as to quit when you’re winning? Surely you would not be so underhand as to deny me the chance to draw level with you! Besides, I am sure this little victorious streak of mine will – as it always does – prove merely temporary.”

“Shame on you, Martin,” admonished Peter. “Do you want this fine gentleman to think we in Mickelsfield are bad sportsmen?”

And so he ploughed on. And surely, soon enough, he had lost all he had earned so far. And, were he to lose, the next throw of the dice would for the first time plunge him into Alexander’s debt.

The two cubes skittered across the table – and a groan escaped from Peter’s two friends as their hero lost yet again.

“So, my good man. You must pay a penalty,” said Alexander with a sorrowful shake of his head. “And as I know you are an a good sportsman and an honest fellow, I’m sure you will not try and shirk the forfeit.”

Ruefully, Peter shook his head. His reputation in the village would never recover if it were known that he had broken his word.

“Let me see…” pondered Alexander, deliberately prolonging the young man’s agony. “What do I have here in my packs?”

He rooted about in his saddle bags, and eventually, he produced one of the fine garments Lord Geoffrey had charged him with procuring.

“I think we would all be highly amused to see you stripping off your peasant garb and wearing these…”

Peter’s eyes widened as he saw a pair of long, silken tights draped over Alexander’s arm.

“You may go outside to change. But the forfeit I give you is to come in here wearing nothing but this canary yellow hose…”

His friends were stunned at the prospective loss of Peter’s dignity, and yet all knew that he had no choice but to carry out Alexander’s command.

“Please, my lord –“

“Come now,” tutted Alexander. “Surely you will not shame yourself by grovelling to try and avoid what you have earned yourself. Take your forfeit like a man!”

The handsome hunk trudged miserably to the door. A low chatter of anticipation ran around the inn, all of its denizens having been attracted by the drama of the game.

Alexander waited patiently for Peter to return. And finally, the inn door creaked open. There was a stunned silence, and then a great guffaw of laughter as Peter stood in the doorway.

Alexander Courcey was not disappointed. The farm worker’s shoulders were broad and tanned, his upper body muscular and lean. And then – oh joy! – Peter’s legs were as hot as he had anticipated. Thick, well proportioned thigh muscles, nicely turned out calves, all encased in bright, bright yellow. The tights clung to every part of him, indecently highlighting every scrap of strong masculine flesh.

Gleefully, Alexander noted that the aphrodisiac powder he had been using to drug Peter’s ale had done its job, and that Peter’s prick stood swollen and proud in its constricting yellow cage. The look on the man’s face said it all – he could not have felt less sexually aroused, and yet his cock seemed to have a will of its own, and was hard and throbbing for all to see. Vainly, he tried to cover the considerable bulge in his tights, but his clasped hands across his groin served merely to draw attention to his state of excitement.

“Turn around, my friend,” called Alexander. “Let us all enjoy the spectacle you’re providing!”

Slowly and reluctantly, Peter rotated on the spot. Alexander nodded appreciatively as the globes of the hunky farmer’s bum came into view, the delightfully sensual yellow tights pulled up so that the material disappeared into his arse crack and the two butt cheeks separated – hard, smooth and round. He was a bit more muscular than the type Alexander usually preferred, but there was no denying that he had a certain unique charm. Peter’s whole body seemed to flush scarlet at being exposed in this way before his friends and neighbours.

“Come join us at the table!”

Eyes cast down on the floor, still attempting, unsuccessfully, to conceal his erect cock, Peter shuffled over to join his half-stunned friends.

“Don’t look so upset,” comforted Alexander. “You’re not the first lad to get turned on by being put in a pair of tights. And I’m sure you won’t be the last. Feels good against your skin, yes?”

Peter the farmer just looked up, helplessly at him, confused as to how he’d ended up in this humiliating predicament.

“Come along, now,” Alexander continued cheerfully. “You’ve been a good sport – so how about I return the favour? What if I give you the chance to win my purse of silver here?”

“No, no more dice,” stammered the bare-chested hunk.

“No, no, no. My luck seems to have turned in my favour after all this time. I was thinking of something that would give you a big advantage. You’re clearly a strong young man. What if we were to arm wrestle? If you win, you take the money fair and square.”

Peter’s sidekicks began to nod eagerly. Their friend was the strongest in the village. And whilst there was a lean muscularity to the wealthy stranger, they had no doubt that Peter would best him.

Equally, the curly-haired farmer himself needed little time to think over the proposition. “It’s a deal,” he said forcefully, barely contemplating what would happen if Alexander were to win.

“And if you lose – which I feel sure is most unlikely given your youth and vigour – then you must submit to whatever I choose to do with you for the rest of this evening.”

“Yes, yes,” said Peter, impatient to get his hands on Alexander’s purse and out of his humiliating yellow tights.

Alexander removed his riding cloak and his jerkin. His bare arms were lean and sinewy. However, Peter remained confident that he held the advantage.

Both men placed their elbows on the table between them, and at a signal from the innkeeper, the contest began. Both tensed and began the effort to defeat the other. Peter was surprised to find his opponent stronger than he’d anticipated. He gritted his teeth, mustered his strength and pushed against Alexander’s arm.

It was to no avail. The saturnine Alexander’s arm resolutely refused to budge and indeed, it was Peter’s which seemed to start to give way. Had he known that all evening he had been imbibing a drug which sapped all a man’s strength from the rest of his body only to focus it all on his genitals, he would not have been so surprised.

Sweat burst in droplets from the farmer’s brow as his anguished friends began to realise that Alexander was slowly forcing their hero’s arm to the table. Peter gave a strangled cry of despair as his knuckles finally came to rest against the oaken surface. He had lost.

Alexander, displaying no sign of exertion whatsoever, looked at him with mock sympathy.

“Well, my friend. It seems that you are mine for the evening…”

Chapter 22 - Jingle Bells

After his night in the kennel, Will was determined that he would not be the loser in the latest perverted challenge Prince Felix had invented for him and his fellows.

He had seen the way the Prince and his lackeys had treated the Steward. If they dared to do that to Lord Geoffrey’s right hand man, who knows what they would do to a peasant boy like him? If nothing else, Will had learned from Alexander what a man wants to see from a cute boy in tights, and so now he wasn’t slow to display his knowledge.

From the corner of the room, Ulfgar began a steady drum beat that made Will’s heart thud. As the drum pounded out its hypnotic beat, Will slowly started to push his ass out towards his eager audience. He imagined Alexander’s evil potion was coursing through his veins, encouraging him to be the tights-wearing slut he knew the Vikings wanted him to be.

He bent his knees so his ass stuck out even further, his hands resting on his hosed thighs and his head bowed, in a position of lustful submission.

“Stay on your stools, bitches!” ordered the Prince. “Any of you who fall will be penalised!”

This was easier said than done, thought Will. The stools were not particularly stable and the chamber’s floor was uneven. As he sashayed his butt from side to side, he risked a look at the other three young men. Mortimer was distinctly uncomfortable, making a half-hearted attempt to sway from side to side in a manner that was more ridiculous than erotic. Raymond meanwhile seemed to have switched into a different mode altogether and was contorting himself into a variety of erotic poses, tweaking his nipples, licking his lips and moaning suggestively. He teasingly ran his gloved hands up and down his pink, hosed thighs, and stroked his ass cheeks invitingly. Clearly this was where Will’s competition lay in this particular contest!

Suddenly, a clattering sound from behind him made them all turn – only for them to see that Humphrey had fallen from his stool and was sitting on the floor on his ample bottom, his lower lip trembling.

“Carry on, sluts!” called out the Prince. “Work those nubile young bodies for some real men!”

Will watched as Humphrey clambered gracelessly back on to the wobbling stool. Then Odin strode over to the undulating Raymond, and attached one brass bell to each of the page boy’s nipples. The pounding of Ulfgar’s drum joined with the tinkling of the bell, and the sound made Will double his efforts, determined not to lose to Raymond yet again.

  Taking his lead from his rival, Will knelt down on his stool, pushing his hosed bottom out, and reaching behind to spread his cheeks. Then he took one hand and smartly began to spank his tights-covered backside with his own hand. This seemed to be appreciated by the crude barbarian. Before long, he found his tits being fondled through the pink silk of his bodystocking as Odin clipped bells to each of them. The tiny jaws of the clip sank into Will’s boy nipples. He gasped at the stinging sensation, which made the Viking grin.

Will got on to his feet, the bells tinkling at his breast, placed his hands on his hips and began to thrust his groin back and forth. He pulled at the bells attached to him, causing him to gasp again at the painful sensation of his titties being stretched. He was rewarded with more bells: two attached to his balls, and a third clipped onto the head of his cock – inevitably rock hard through the satiny leotard.

The feeling of having tinkling bells attached to the most intimate and sensitive parts of his body served only to accentuate Will’s humiliation. He wriggled his hosed bum and the awareness of the bells made him feel sluttier and more objectified than ever.

What would his parents and his older brother think, he wondered, if they could see him now? Dressed head to toe in a clinging pink bodystocking, with just a gap for his face to peer through! Dancing for the sexual pleasure and arousal of two brutish bodyguards, with no thought for his own dignity or self- respect. His face flushed a deep red with the shame of what his time at the castle had brought him to.

“Enough!” called out Prince Felix. The drum-beat stopped in an instant, and Will froze in the obscenely sexual position he was currently adopting.

“Step down from your podia, worms, and we shall see who has been awarded the most bells – and who has the least.” He paused dramatically. “Well, it seems that our dark-haired worm has been the most alluring.”

Will looked over to see Raymond looking deeply smug: if indeed it is possible to look smug whilst wearing an all-in-one pink tights suit, with bells dangling from one’s ears, nipples, cock and balls. Meanwhile, Mortimer had somehow managed to secure one solitary bell, which dangled pitifully from his cockhead. Humphrey had none.

The fat boy’s devastated face said it all. Clearly the only thing on his mind was the prospect of going another day without food.

The Prince realised the same thing. “Don’t worry, my plump little worm. We would hardly be so unimaginative as to give you the same punishment two days running now, would we?”

Humphrey breathed an audible sigh of relief.

“No, Mistress Olwen shall have instructions to feed you as normal. Indeed, you will have a little supplement to your usual meal.”

Odin stepped forward with a long brown glass bottle, half full of some kind of cordial.

“This contains a powerful laxative,” growled the Viking. “I will administer it to you after you have eaten your evening meal. And I will make sure you drink every last drop.” He laughed at the boy’s desperate expression. “You’re going to have an explosive evening – and I don’t imagine you’re going to be getting much sleep either!”

Ulfgar joined in the laughter. And although Prince Felix’s lip curled, his delicacy offended by the thought of the page boy’s basest bodily functions, he clearly could not help but gain some sadistic pleasure from Humphrey’s obvious distress.

The day’s entertainment over, the four page boys were dismissed, although Will, Mortimer and Raymond were instructed to leave their decorative bells attached to whichever parts of their stockinged bodies they had been secured. The young men, jingling as they walked, hurried away from their torture chamber.

Odin looked towards his master, with lust and hunger in his eyes.

“What is it?” snapped the Prince. “Oh I see. You’re all fired up, now, are you? Imagining what you’d like to do with those slutty little bitches. Well we’ll see. Perhaps you will get some satisfaction.” He added airily, “If I decide you’ve deserved it.”

Odin gritted his teeth in a wide grin and bowed low before the Prince. “Your merest whim, is, as ever our command, your highness.”

“Quite,” sniffed the Prince. “And don’t you ever forget it.”

The pages had all the regular chores to perform around the castle: more so than ever, following the exodus of cleaners, maids and old faithful retainers. Those few who did remain gawped openly at the four lads in their unitards; bells jingling from cocks, balls and tits.

They arrived in the kitchen that evening to receive their meagre rations and Mistress Olwen rolled her eyes at their appearance.

“Downright indecent it is,” she muttered. “All my girls sent out into the world too. And whatever you might think of him – Lord Geoffrey’s own uncle – a man in his eighties and a cripple – turned out into the street. It’s not right. Mark my words, there will be a reckoning.”

Raymond looked up at her from his bowl of gruel. “That bastard deserves everything he gets,” he hissed.

Mistress Olwen clamped her hand to her mouth in shock. “I’m surprised at you, young Raymond! Talking about your betters like that.”

“That repulsive creature is certainly not my better.”

The cook tutted to herself. “Well I’m not making excuses for the state you or any of the other boys end up in after serving on Sir Wilfrid, but even so…”

An awkward silence descended on the gathering at the table.

“And anyway,” Olwen said finally. “It’s not just him, is it? Your poor, sweet sister has been abandoned to the cruel world out there, as well, hasn’t she?”

“Jane will manage,” said Raymond, tersely. “She’s not as fragile as she looks.”

“You’re a callous boy, Raymond.”

“And you are a foolish old woman who needs to learn that the tide has turned and that your loyalties, indeed your very life, depend on the favour of Prince Felix. And if you allow your tongue to grow as flabby as your backside with all your gossip and complaining, then you are even more stupid than I took you for. And I predict your life will last no longer than that of the traitor Alexander Courcey!”

Mistress Olwen’s face turned purple. She spluttered, incoherent with outrage. She was saved from having to reply to the impudent page boy by the sudden appearance of Odin the Viking at the kitchen door.

“What a quaint little scene,” boomed the ogre. “Mother hen and her four wriggly worms!”

The buxom cook recovered herself and dropped into a curtsey. “You are here for his Highness’ supper, Master Odin?” she simpered.

“Indeed,” came his terse reply.

“You should let one of the page boys carry it up to the Prince.”

“Out of the question. Prince Felix’s meals must be tested. We would not trust such as these to carry his highness’ food to him.”

“Tested?!” squawked the cook. “I have fed kings and dukes and I have never” -

She stopped short. Raymond’s warning suddenly seeming all too apposite.

Odin raised his eyebrow, and Mistress Olwen bustled off to fetch the tray of delicacies she had prepared for Prince Felix’s repast.

Then came the moment Humphrey had been dreading. “Time for your medicine, fat boy,” Odin whispered menacingly.

Moving remarkably swiftly for a man of his size, in an instant, Odin had one arm around Humphrey’s plump neck as he produced the bottle of cordial and unstoppered it. Humphrey began to struggle, but it was no use against this giant of a man. Odin gripped the boy’s turned up nose between his massive thumb and forefinger, causing Humphrey to take an involuntary gulp of air. And in that moment, Odin poured the entire contents of the bottle down the page boy’s throat.

The liquid clearly tasted vile, and Humphrey coughed and spluttered as he swallowed the thick brown gunk. Drool seeped from the the corner of his mouth, and tears from his eyes.

Mistress Olwen reappeared with a tray replete with fish, chicken, vegetables and sweets. All this, just for the Prince, thought Will to himself. “Here you are, Master Odin,” whispered the Cook in sufficiently humble tones.

Odin took the tray without a word to her. He glanced contemptuously at the whimpering Humphrey. “Have a pleasant evening, fat boy.”

His gaze came to rest on Raymond. “Hmm, perhaps,” he mused. “After all, if you have an itch…”

And with that cryptic remark, the brutish Norselander left the draughty kitchen behind.

Will watched him go and then turned to look at Mistress Olwen.

“And I wager he’ll not eat most of it as well,” she muttered to herself.

The castle felt so empty now at night time, thought Will, as he drew his blanket over himself: back in his own bed at last. Where once twenty or thirty young men slept, reeking of testosterone and dreaming of bedding young kitchen maids, now lay four neutered page boys: all dressed in the sissiest and most revealing of costumes. Living only to serve and amuse the dashing yet pitiless Prince Felix.

Well, strictly speaking, actually only three page boys lay in the dormitory. Humphrey had run to the stinking garderobe about an hour ago, his stomach gurgling worse than ever, clutching his butt cheeks in their pink stretched fabric, and in desperate danger of soiling his pink body stocking. They all knew the fat page boy had a very unpleasant and uncomfortable night ahead of him.

Will lay there in his tights suit, listening to Mortimer snoring gently in the bed nearby. Raymond had taken a pallet as far as possible from the other page boys. Will was fairly certain the dark haired lad was still awake, no doubt plotting his revenge against someone or other: probably Will himself.

The door to the large dormitory creaked open. Will had the distinctly unsympathetic thought that Humphrey should just stay in the garderobe all night, rather than disturbing the rest of them by creeping back to his bed, only to have to make a mad dash to the toilet again moments later. But as he looked up from his bedcover, he saw a very different form to the podgy Humphrey, silhouetted in the moonlight.

Odin caught Will’s eye and looked at him contemptuously. “Go back to sleep, bitch boy. It’s not you I’ve come for – this time…”

The hulking henchman carefully removed his thick leather jerkin, and pulled his belt from around his leather trousers. Discarding them silently on one of the nearby beds, he spat into his massive hands and rubbed them together eagerly. Will was taken aback by the size of the man’s pectoral muscles and his bulging biceps, all scattered with the same black fuzz.

Stealthily, Odin made his way further down the dormitory. Will waited and listened. Sure enough, a startled cry from Raymond confirmed that Odin had come to claim the prize that had aroused him so much that very afternoon.

Will’s mind was racing, and he had no time to spend contemplating his rival’s predicament. He risked a look at Mortimer. No, the red-haired youth was sleeping soundly, blissfully unaware and undisturbed by the intruder.

Will slipped out of his bed. His pink stockinged feet rested gently on the cold flagstones. Cursing the tinkling of the bells that still clung to his nipples and genitals, he hoped only that Odin would be too preoccupied to notice any sounds from the far end of the dormitory.

Will hurried over to where the giant had discarded his jerkin and belt. In a second, he had found what he had been looking for: the massive iron key ring that Odin kept attached to his leather belt. Grabbing it, he moved as quickly as he dared, slipping through the door that the Viking had left ajar.

Who knew how long he had to carry out his desperate scheme? He hurried out into the castle courtyard, his flimsy pink tights suit affording little protection against the chill of night time. He snatched up the wooden bowl that lay discarded outside the kennel he’d slept in only the night before and dipped it into the well, filling it half-full of cold water.

Then, nipples tingling and jingling, he hurried over to the door that led down to the dungeon. Which key? Which key? He thought in his panic. There were so many of them! It could take an age to go through them all, by which time Odin would have finished his rape of the page boy and discover the theft.

Keep calm, he thought to himself. And try to match the key to the lock. He selected a long iron key which looked right, but was too thick for the hole. Will might have found that coincidence ironic had his gloved hands not been trembling with fear. The next one wasn’t right either, nor the next. But then – hallelujah! –  his fourth choice eased in and with a click, the door was unlocked.

Will hadn’t counted on the pitch blackness as he slipped inside the dungeon. The clammy dark consumed him in an instant and he paused at the top of the staircase lest he fall. At the foot of the stairs, the cell’s inhabitant, alerted by the creak of the opening door, called out.

“Changed your mind, have you? Have you come to murder me in the night after all?”

“Please be quiet, Sir! It’s me, Sir, Will the junior page boy.”

            Alexander gazed in amazement through the gloom as, sure enough, the blond lad, accompanied by a weird tinkling sound, began to tiptoe down the stairs.

The page boy offered his old master the water in its wooden bowl, and Alexander slurped at it greedily.

“But how, boy?” demanded the Steward between gulps.

“I stole the key from Odin. It was spur of the moment. I’ve not thought of what to do next but I know I don’t have long.”

“I see. And what is happening out there?”

“The Prince has sent almost everyone out of the castle. He says that you are a traitor who used Lord Geoffrey’s incomes to enrich yourself.”

“That is a lie, page boy.”

“I know, Sir. But what can I do?”

“The risks are great. But there is a chance you may help me. You must go now and lock the door behind you. Remove the dungeon key and then return the key ring to where that brutish barbarian left it. If you manage to hide the key in among your bed sheets, you may yet be able to visit me and bring a little food and water. We can only hope that having locked me away to die, they do not think to come here again, or indeed notice that the key is missing.”

Alexander took a deep breath. “I need hardly tell you of what the consequences will be for you if you are discovered aiding me in this way.”

Will said nothing. “I understand, Sir.”

“Then you must go at once. Visit me again when you can. Perhaps then you can give me the explanation for your latest costume.” He gave a wry grin. “I have to say, it does suit you. Although perhaps the bells are rather impractical for escapades of this nature.”

“Yes, Sir,” mumbled Will, his mind spinning at the audacity of his actions and the danger in which he had placed himself. He turned to leave.

“Wait!” whispered Alexander. “One thing more. Tell me – why? Why are you risking your own life for me?”

Will hesitated. “I don’t know, Sir. I only know you don’t deserve to starve to death like this.”

On an impulse, Alexander grabbed the page boy’s head, encased in its pink hood and pulled it towards his own. Parting the youth’s full pink lips, he allowed his tongue to explore deep into the sweet mouth of the lad. God, he tasted good. And how he wanted those pouting lips on his hardening cock right now. However, the Steward’s common sense was victorious in the tussle with his libido.

“Go,” he said. “Go now. And good luck.”

Chapter 21 - A knight in the dungeon and a night in the kennel

It was dark. So dark he could make nothing out in front of him. Nearby he heard the relentless drip of water from a broken pipe. He shivered and wished he had a scrap of blanket to wrap around his naked torso. His luxurious black tights provided no warmth and little comfort in these bleak surroundings.

Alexander Courcey sighed ruefully. How the Wheel of Fate turns, he mused. Mere months ago, in this very dungeon, he was forcing the beautiful Arab soldier, Darius, to submit to a daily diet of humiliation and anal penetration. Now here he himself lay, one hand manacled to the wall, on a bed of filthy straw. At least any prisoner kept here under Alexander’s control had been well looked after, fed, watered and exercised. He had wanted to ensure they all remained in good physical condition for whatever sexual torment he intended to mete out to them. He felt sure that his royal highness Prince Felix would not be anywhere near so considerate a gaoler.

All day long he had had ample time to mull over the dramatic shift in his circumstances. Should he have guessed that the spoiled Prince offering up his body so willingly was indeed too good to be true? Had he for the first time in his life allowed his cock to rule his head? No, he thought grimly, the beautiful young princeling had made up his mind to get Alexander out of the way from their very first encounter. Had it not been this way, he’d have found some other method. And at least Alexander had had the opportunity (however briefly) of getting his hands on that fantastic arse.

A noise startled him. Sure enough, the jangling of keys at the heavy door to the dungeon announced the arrival of his first sight of a visitor since he had been unceremoniously dumped there by the Prince’s bodyguards a mere twenty-four hours before.

He had spent the day wondering what his fate would be. Would Felix simply leave him here to rot, or would he make sure he was properly out of the way by slitting his throat? Alexander tensed as he prepared to find out one way or the other.

Sure enough, he was unsurprised to see the lumbering form of Ulfgar leading the way, carrying a flaming torch to illuminate the path for his arrogant young master. Alexander blinked at the unaccustomed light but he could see well enough to make out that the Prince was being followed by his other bodyguard.

Alexander determined not to show any weakness before the Prince and his lackeys. If he were to die, he would make sure he did it with dignity. Reasoning that he might not get a second chance, he decided to launch the first barb.

“Well if it isn’t Prince Prick-tease himself,” he called out hoarsely. “Have you changed your mind again, young man? Decided you do want my cock up your royal rump after all!”

In the dim light, Alexander nevertheless saw the Prince’s handsome features flush scarlet with rage. “How dare you?!” he shrieked, stamping his royal foot furiously.

“Come, come, your highness. Methinks the boy doth protest too much. You’ve been wiggling that hosed ass of yours at me from the moment you arrived here in the castle. Come over here and I’ll show you what a good fuck could do for you.”

Felix looked as if he were about to explode with apoplexy.

“Shall I kill him now, your highness?” rumbled Ulfgar, drawing his sword.

The Prince could barely speak. “Do it. Do it. The man is mad. Slit his throat.”

Alexander tensed himself. His goading had had the effect he expected. Death would come, but at least it would come swiftly. He had faced death before on the battlefield. In these dark and violent times, it was not unusual for a man to meet his end at the point of another’s thrusting weapon…

Ulfgar raised his sword high. In a moment it would all be over.

“Your highness!” whispered Odin from the shadows. “This is what he wants!”

Ulfgar hesitated in mid-swing.

“What do you mean?” hissed the Prince.

“He seeks a quick death. He fears being left to linger and starve. Should your highness grant the wishes of this man – a traitor, a pervert and a would-be murderer?”

Felix looked deep into Alexander’s wide eyes. “You’re right, Odin. You’re quite right. He hoped to enrage me and thus achieve his life was ended swiftly.”

Alexander’s hopes sank as the golden haired Prince exulted over him. “But I am quite calm now. And he has failed. We will lock the door behind us, Courcey. And we will leave you to rot.”

“Lord Geoffrey will not let my death go unavenged, your “highness”. You will pay the price for this.”

The Prince snorted derisively. “You’re in no position to make threats. By the time my Father and my godfather return to this country, your death will be long forgotten. And you, if you are remembered at all, will be recalled only as a grubby traitor. You forget who I am. And I have nothing to fear from your master.” He turned to leave. “Odin. Ulfgar. Maybe we should give the condemned man one final drink. Are your bladders full?”

In a moment, the two Vikings were fumbling eagerly in their leather trousers. Each produced fat, veiny cocks that pulsed with anticipation. Alexander scrambled around on the cold stone floor, but tethered to the wall as he was, he could not go far. His chain was stretched taut as the two gigantic men moved round to stand on either side of the Steward.

Odin let loose first, a steady stream of piss arcing through the air and landing with a splash on Alexander’s silken black tights. The Steward winced as the warm liquid splashed onto the material and seeped through to wet his thighs. He tried to avoid the noxious onslaught but straight away, the other bodyguard joined in, spraying his urine over Alexander’s naked shoulders and his hair.

“Come, proud Master Steward!” mocked Odin. “You must be thirsty. Take a good long drink! It is the last chance you’ll ever get.”

And he directed his cock upwards so that his piss splashed against Alexander’s bearded face. Alexander, for his part, kept his lips pressed firmly shut. He had no intention of swallowing even a droplet of the pungent fluid.

Ulfgar laughed uproariously as Odin continued to taunt the Steward. “Those fine black tights won’t smell so fine now they’re soaked in our stinking piss, will they? Ha!”

Eventually, bladders emptied, the giants put their monstrous cocks back in their trousers.

Alexander coughed and spluttered as he attempted to wipe the droplets of piss from his brow. Finally, he glared defiantly at the impudent young Prince.

 “Why do it?” Alexander demanded. “I have no power compared to you. You could have had me thrown in here the moment you arrived in the castle if that was what you wanted. Why go through the charade of pretending you wanted me to fuck you?”

The Prince looked at the Steward with contempt. “I was bored,” he said blandly.

“We will leave you now. We shall lock the door behind us and we will be the last people you ever see on this earth. Farewell, Master Courcey.”

And Alexander watched the receding forms of the Prince and his guards climbing up the stairs to freedom, before his prison cell was plunged into darkness once more.

At the doorway to the dungeon, Will waited, tethered to a rusty iron ring. He’d been instructed to stay there “like a good little doggy”, and now assumed a mutely meek countenance as the Prince and his flunkeys strode out of the door and locked it behind them, pretending he had not seen and heard everything that had taken place in the cell below. He crouched in his clinging pink bodysuit, his leather collar constricting his throat, fearful now for himself. At least under Alexander’s regime, there had been a kind of order. He’d become accustomed to having his hosed legs and arse fondled or smacked by any horny male who happened to pass by. Alexander’s experience and expertise had kept Will constantly teetering on the boundaries of fear, humiliation and arousal. However, Will sensed that the entertainment required by the bored Prince and his brutal bodyguards would be far more … unpredictable.

“Come along, doggy,” smirked Odin. “Time for you to go to your kennel.”

He untied Will’s leash and gave him a swat across his pink bum. Will hurried to crawl on all fours as Odin dragged him across the courtyard. “Let’s go walkies!”

Will heard Ulfgar issue a grumbling chuckle at the page boy’s discomfort, whose hosed knees skimmed the cobblestones. The bearded bodyguard grabbed a wooden bowl that was lying nearby and quickly dipped it in the well in the centre of the yard. Placing it down in front of Will, he pushed the pageboy’s blond head down towards the icy water.

“Drink, little bitch. Lap up all that lovely water!”

He forced Will’s face into the bowl, where he held it in place for a few moments. After what seemed an eternity, he released his grip and Will shot up, coughing and spluttering for air. This seemed to amuse the two barbarians no end.

The Prince’s authoritative tones cut through their laughter.

“I’m tired. Tie up the dog and see me to my chambers. You can play some more with your pet tomorrow.”

They’d clearly been looking forward to having some sport with Will, but Odin and Ulfgar did as they were told, tying, somewhat regretfully, the lad’s leash to a post by an old and disused wooden kennel. Will slunk miserably inside and curled up on the ratty old blanket that lay within.

“Good night, bitch,” cooed Odin. “Sweet dreams…”

Spring was in the air the following morning as day broke. It took him a moment to work out where he was. Then he smelt the dampness of the wooden kennel and felt the slinky touch of his pink bodysuit and the events of the previous night flooded back to him. The crustiness of his own dried semen at his crotch served as a reminder of his humiliation and his failure.

It had taken Will a long time to get to sleep. The conversation that he had overheard between Alexander and Prince Felix went round and round his head. Will had never believed that the Steward had been deceiving Lord Geoffrey for all those years, and now it seemed that not only had the cruel Prince duped Alexander, he was abandoning him to starve to his death…

Suddenly he heard the crunch of footsteps approaching his kennel, and then the large leather boot of Odin stepped into his view.

“Sleep well, doggy?”

Will looked up at the giant with big, brown, sorrowful eyes. “Woof?” he whimpered mournfully.

“Ha ha! Yes that’s the idea, little bitch. Now, I guess you must be hungry. Here’s a bowl with some dog food for you to tuck into.”

Sure enough, a shallow bowl containing a scattering of dry biscuits was placed in front of Will. “Make sure you eat it all up now!”

            Will was left in his kennel all morning, and the sun was well past midday by the time Odin returned.

“You’re to join your fellow worms,” he leered as he towered over the page boy.

Untying the leash from the wooden post, he tugged Will’s collar sharply. “Boy, are we going to have some fun with you!”

Prince Felix lounged in the plush red velvet throne in the middle of his chambers in the castle. He examined his pale, ringed hand languidly and ran it slowly along his thigh. His turquoise tights were patterned with an intricate diamond design that glittered in the early Spring sunlight. He knew all too well that his body had been lusted after by just about every man in his father’s army. So what if he knew that the fine, figure-hugging tights that took pride of place in his wardrobe only added to the devastating effect he had on such men? He knew that his physical appearance was directly given to him by God. All other men were brutes: animals scrabbling in the dirt, compared to his divinely given beauty.

He smiled to himself. Well, Alexander Courcey certainly learned his lesson. The presumption of the man – to think he could lay his hands on his god-like form! Well, he had his reward: crawling to death in darkness and alone.

And now here were four more grovelling creatures: their shame and humiliation almost palpable as they stood before him in their pink bodysuits. Apprehension was clearly etched on all four faces as they tried to imagine what fresh humiliation might be visited on them this afternoon.

“How are my little worms today? Did you get lots of stares as you went around in your pink tights suits? How did Mistress Olwen’s serving maid get on in her little cap and apron?”

Humphrey flushed as pink as his costume, his tummy rumbling and squelching with hunger.

“And did my dirty bitch dog sleep well in its kennel? I imagine it was humping whatever surface it could find…”

Will studiously avoided the gaze of the other boys.

“But we must get on with today’s little amusement,” the Prince continued.

“Fetch the podia!” he commanded.

At this, Odin and Ulfgar produced four wooden stools and arranged them around the room.

“Come, worms! Climb up!”

The four young men did so, a little hesitantly. Humphrey’s stool wobbled a little: one of its legs slightly shorter than the others. The fat page boy struggled to maintain his balance but he managed it in the end.

Prince Felix glanced out of the window. “As you know, I have introduced a series of austerity measures here in the castle, to make up for the profligacy of your former master. Even now, many of your former comrades and colleagues are making their way into the desolate countryside.”

Sure enough, a slow and miserable line of old men, women and girls were trudging their way through the mud, leaving behind forever the place they had thought of as home. Will followed the arrogant young prince’s gaze, and spotted Jane the kitchen-maid amongst the snaking queue of outcasts. He dared to look across at Raymond to see if his rival had noticed the banishment of his sister. The cold fury in Raymond’s eyes told him that he had.

Felix smirked at his humiliated subjects. “Don’t waste your pity on them. Who knows? By the time we’ve finished with you, you might even think they have the better deal!”

Will heard Humphrey gulp, and the fat boy’s breathing became shallower.

“Now, Odin and Ulfgar here are Vikings as you know. Cruel barbarians, bred to a life of raping and pillaging. Thus far, they have been tamed by the daily parade of young maidens – like that pert-titted kitchen-maid down there – they see around them. But with this exodus of pretty young female flesh, they demand new ways to satisfy their carnal lusts, don’t you, my men?”

The brutish Odin leered at the pink-hosed boys. “Oh yes, your highness.”

“They want to see you dance for them,” he went on. “They want to see you writhing in the most lascivious and suggestive way you can imagine. If you please Odin and Ulfgar, they will attach one of these ingenious little bells to you…” The Prince held up a jingling little brass bell attached to a clip rather like a clothes peg. “…At the end of your dance, the slut with the most bells on their body will be declared the winner. And the slut with the least will be punished …”

Will glanced across at his fellow pages. It would be hard to imagine a less erotic sight than Humphrey in his bulging pink tights suit, he thought.

Prince Felix handed the box of bells to Odin and leaned back in his throne with a smirk.

“Do you understand? Then we will begin!”